


Loving You Is Like Loving The Dead

by cemeterycoffee



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, M/M, Parallel Universes, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:27:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22459480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cemeterycoffee/pseuds/cemeterycoffee
Summary: Frank moves into a house that was formerly occupied by three people -- one who died in his bedroom, the other who disappeared without a trace, and the last who moved away to never be heard from again. Yeah, he was living out a cliché Goosebumps story of sorts.
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way, Mikey Way/Pete Wentz, Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	Loving You Is Like Loving The Dead

The first glimpse Frank got of his new house was of the rickety wood floor with an upsticking nailed that loomed far too close for comfort, rusted and crooked. Two minutes in and he was already an arm’s length away from tetanus. Things were already getting off to a terrible start, he thought bitterly, and he really had been planning on trying to see the silver lining. Really, he was.

“There’s a missing step,” his mother’s voice came as she crossed the leaf-strewn threshold, a stack of boxes in tow. 

No shit, Frank wanted to say, but clearly thought better of it. Instead, he murmured a miserable, “Would have been nice three minutes ago.” 

His mom stepped over him wordlessly, narrowly avoiding stepping on Frank’s arm, or the loose nail that made him convinced he’d never be able to walk barefoot in his own home ever again. He thumped his head against the dark wood pitifully, getting a mouthful of dust and cobwebs and probably a plethora of diseases. He shot his head up, groaning.

“C’mon, Frankie,” she said unsympathetically, depositing her towering boxes of kitchenette supplies on the counter, “It has character.”

Some character, he thought. As far as he was concerned, chipping paint, missing floorboards, and tree branches that rattled against the windowpane of the kitchen didn’t entirely build good character. A good buildup to a Goosebumps episode, maybe. 

“I’ll just lay here,” he murmured, “To die.”

“No, you won’t,” him mom chided him distractedly, beginning to rip duct tape off of the cardboard boxes, “Stop with the dramatics. All your boxes are still in the U-Haul.”

He pushed himself off the floor, wiping his hands on his jeans and looking disgustingly at all of the dust imprints his palms left. Allergies were going to be a bitch, he already knew it.

When he said as much, his mom only rolled her eyes, and replied, “Only if you’re going to make laying on the floor a habit. Oh, and language.”

Frank made his way across the living room warily, wincing at the creaking sound that one of the wood panels made. If he ever wanted to leave the house undetected, he was going to have to memorize every eerie groaning sound that his footsteps made. Jumping out the window may be worth less of the trouble. He could just grab onto that stupid tree that kept scratching at the glass.

“Wash my mouth out with soap,” he said flippantly.  
.  
His mother was already brushing past him, not giving heed to the noises that echoed around the room as she walked. Or tried to, anyway. Frank saw the alarmed arch of her eyebrows at the jarring sound that the front door made, hanging from its hinges too loosely. 

“Someday, Frank,” she commented, “Someday, that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

Frank trailed after her reluctantly, carefully maneuvering his way around the missing step, testing each stair tentatively to make sure none would break under his feet. Landing face-first on the porch wasn’t exactly at the top of his to-do list. He had to start his new school tomorrow -- in the middle of the semester, might he add, as if moving wasn’t already bad enough -- and he wasn’t sure that a bruised face would make such a great impression. Unless falling over missing steps in your stairway was common here, which Frank supposed it could be. He could see at least three-fourths of the whole town from his front yard and not a single house looked any newer than his. Dark, pointy roofs that arched into the overcast sky, walls that shrunk away from the light to sulk in the shadows of the overgrown trees.

Yeah, this town was creepy as fuck, and part of Frank found that enthralling and the other part of him was convinced he was living out a Stephen King novel.

He trudged across the yard, grass damp and flattening beneath his feet. When he set up his T.V. and bed, things were going to get infinitely better. The house was spacious and he couldn’t wait to enter his room everyday and not bump into something. His old apartment made it nearly impossible to not stumble into a table, or hit his foot on the edge of his bed; a new fucking obstacle course everyday.

He approached the U-Haul, parked against the curb. His mom already had boxes in hand that she dropped into his arms. He made an exasperated sound and swayed under their weight. What were in these, rocks? 

“Lamps,” she said, as though she could read his mind, “Put them in the living room.”

He staggered across the driveway, clutching the boxes that obscured his view. When he made it to the porch, he took each step as thought it would be his last (it very well could be considering how fucking unsteady these stairs already were). If he couldn’t see the missing step with nothing blocking his vision, he sure as hell wouldn’t be able to see it with huge boxes of lamps in his way. 

He stumbled to a stop in the vacant living room, lowering to place the boxes carefully. He already felt sweat beading on his forehead, his breathing serrated as he struggled to catch his breath. He put his hands on his dust-covered knees, panting.

“I’ve got your next set of boxes ready!” His mom called out to him, cracking the door open with a rock from the yard, “And then we have the sofa, which I’m gonna need you to take one side of.”

It was going to be a long fucking day.

\--

Frank slept restlessly throughout the night, despite how his limbs felt like they’d been ran over by the U-Haul from carrying all of those boxes. He’d been too tired to set up his any of his room by the end of it, dragging the mattress up the stairs into his room and collapsing atop of it. He woke up every few hours, freezing and able to see his breath in his room despite how many blankets he had, wondering where he was. In the creepy fucking house, he had to remind himself everytime he woke up after dreamless moments of unconciousness, the motherfucking freezing, creepy house.

When he woke up that morning, an hour before he even had to get ready for school, it was impossibly more cold than when he had gone to sleep. The tree branches had gone from scratching at the windows to full-on attacking them, thunder rumbling loudly from outside. Great, because walking to school was already fucking awesome, and the downpour outside his window made it just that more amazing. He couldn’t wait. Really.

He dragged himself out of bed, wrapping his warmest blanket around him to fend off the chill that had accumulated in the room. He made his way downstairs, each step bitterly cold beneath his feet, even the walls being cold to touch. This place fucking sucked. He was going to contract pneumonia just living in his own house if they didn’t fix the furnace.

When Frank finally made it to the kitchen, teeth chattering and feet numb, his mother was already awake, coffee brewing. She had turned on the oven and cracked it open to let the heat seep in, but it all seemed to no avail. It did little but make the kitchen a tiny more bearable than the rest of the frozen-over hell that this house was.

He mumbled a good morning, and his mom wordlessly placed a mug of hot coffee in front of him. He placed his hands over it to warm them up. Pointless. He thunked his head against the counter.

“It’s not so bad,” she said, placing a hand on his head. He heard her set down a plate of breakfast. “You hated your old school. You told me many times.”

“I said that I hate school. In general. Not just that one,” he groaned, but lifted his head up anyway. He hated to feign a little optimism for his mom. He didn’t need her worrying over him -- she had enough on her plate as it was.

He took the breakfast, spreading jam on his toast quietly. He was sending prayers to a God he didn’t believe in that school would go by smoothly. That’s how desperate he was. He didn’t even care if he ate lunch alone, or whatever the stereotypical teenagers worried about in those really bad, cliche highschool movies. He didn’t actually know how first days at a new highschool in the middle of the semester went, but he had a sneaking suspicion that all of his teachers would make him introduce himself in front of the class.

His mom was pouring coffee into her thermos, capping it before she slid her hands into a pair of gloves. Frank noticed she was wearing her winter coat, the layered one she didn’t usually have to bust out until at least mid-November. She lifted up the hood, the faux fur framing her face. She gave him a thin-lipped smile, rigid and stressed. Frank mustered one back, and automatically felt guilt wash over him for complaining so much.

“It’ll be okay, honey,” she patted his arm, her gloved-hand warm against his cold skin. Frank didn’t say anything, just took a bite of his toast. “There’s an umbrella in the box in the hallway closet. You remember where your school is, right? Up three blocks then around the corner on --”

“On Stellar Ave. I know, mom. I’ll be fine.” 

She sighed, that mix between a worried smile and a grimace tugging on her lips. She lifted her hand from his arm, and adjusted the straps of her purse over her shoulder.

“Walk safe, Frankie. I’ll be home at five.” He didn’t nag at her for calling him Frankie.

Her footsteps reverberated throughout the house, sounding hollow. When she opened the crooked, creaking door, Frank could hear the rain beating the earth relentlessly and thunder growling. Lightning flashed, blinding and abrupt, as the door slammed shut behind her.

Frank finished his breakfast groggily, feeling drained and depleted from the lack of fucking sleep. He hoped that every night wouldn’t be like that -- the floorboards creaking when he rolled over, and the room so cold Frank could probably embalm a body and keep it properly refrigerated in there. Not that Frank was going to test that theory or anything. 

He took a quick shower, half-expecting the water to come out in the form of icicles. It wasn’t very warm (seriously, if the furnace and boiler weren’t fixed soon, Frank was going to resort to setting himself on fire or something equally as drastic), but it wasn’t as cold as he had anticipated. He showered quickly, got fully dressed, then laid under the covers of his bed, wishing he had set up his TV and wishing they hadn’t moved in the middle of the week, until it was time for him to get up.

As Frank trudged outside, he was met with the onslaught of rain, ceaseless and lashing out of the sky violently. The wind was frigid and harsh, blasting cold droplets of rain into Frank’s face as he plodded down the slick sidewalk, over drenched fall leaves and muddy footprints. He kept his face down, wondering if this was Noah’s Ark all fucking over again or something, or if maybe states that weren’t even on the coast could get hurricanes.

As it turned out, there wasn’t an umbrella in the box in the closet. Frank had dumped the box out, frantically searching for it as he heard the thunder rip the world apart outside, until he came to the conclusion that they had packed it into a different box. Or forgot it altogether, with his luck. He had to abandon his search or be late, and pulled the drawstrings of his hoodie as tight as they would go.

By the time he got to school, every aspect of him was fucking soaked. His clothes felt heavy with water, clinging to his skin, his backpack -- and probably its contents -- were drenched, his shoes tracked mud into the school, and his hair was plastered to his forehead. Guess he hadn’t needed that shower after all. 

Not all of their silverware had been unpacked, so he had been forced to put his coffee in a waterbottle, a fucking waterbottle, which didn’t keep in the warmth. It was cold, and slightly mixed with rainwater, so his energy support and the only thing he had been planning on keeping him warm went right down the water fountain drain after he had retrieved his schedule from the front office. 

He trekked around the school building, wet and miserable, trying to find his first class. People kept giving him side glaces, as though they’d never seen a pissed off teenager before, or perhaps because their bland, creepy-ass smalltown didn’t often offer newcomers. Or maybe he just looked like some sort of sea monster with how soaked he was, leaves and mud clinging to his pants and shoes. He didn’t know. He just clenched his jaw and shoved past them. 

Everything sucked, he decided. High school was pointless. The bell had already rang and he couldn’t find his first class, which meant he was starting off his new high school by staggering into the room during the middle of class, soaked and streaked with mud. 

He trudged down the hall, the same one he’d swore he’d already been down, but he couldn’t tell at this point. He heard a heavy set of footsteps behind him, following him as he turned the corner. He grinded his teeth absent-mindedly, trying to ignore the person trailing after him.

“Hey,” he heard, coming from behind him, the footsteps speeding up. Frank didn’t say anything, just adjusted his wet backpack straps on his shoulders and tried to walk faster.

“Hey!” It came again, this time more insistent. “Slow down!”

Frank stopped and turned around, but didn’t walk up to the man who was a few feet behind him.“What?”

The person crossed the few feet silently, taking in Frank’s appearance indifferently. “You lost?”

No, he clearly liked to wander around aimlessly for fun. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” 

The man just shrugged, “Let me see your schedule.”

Frank gingerly held it up, the paper wrinkled from where he had clenched his fists around it. The man accepted it, looking down at it. Wordlessly, he looked back up and made a signal with his hand before walking in the opposite direction. Frank followed him because, really, it’s not like he could get any more lost than he already was. As he trailed after the other student, he saw the muddied footprints he had left behind.

“You’re new,” the guy stated, not glancing at him as he led him down a corridor.

“Uh, yeah.”

The man nodded, “Just moved in yesterday.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah?” 

“I saw the U-Haul. I’m Pete, by the way. If anyone seems... disconcerted by your appearance, it’s only because people don’t really ever move up here.”

That didn’t sound ominous or weird at all. He was the main character of a Goosebumps episode, Frank was sure of it now. He was going to go home and stumble upon a graveyard and find out everyone he went to school with had died fifty years ago or something. That was just the kind of day he was having.

“Frank,” he offered, “Moved in from New Jersey.”

Pete nodded, strands of dark hair falling into his face. He didn’t seem so bad, Frank decided, not at all like the preppy small-town type of people he had been expecting, the ones that shunned outsiders like Frank. 

“Far move,” Pete commented. He didn’t ask why Frank moved. “You’re on Wallace Lane?”

“Yeah, creepy ass house on the corner,” Frank scoffed, “Looks like somebody died in it and now haunts it.”

Pete laughed, but it sounded forced. Probably because Frank was awkward and unfunny, but he didn’t care, Pete was the one who approached him first. Pete’s eyes looked clouded over and distant, like he was thinking of something else.

They turned a corner, and Pete stopped. 

“Room 116,” he said, holding out Frank’s schedule. Frank took it back. “Your next class is with me, if you want to wait here I can take you there. So you don’t keep wandering past the classroom the principal is subbing for today.”

Oh God, he had he been doing that? That would’ve been a great way to start school; the principal eventually noticing him and stepping out of class to walk him to his class.

“Oh,” Frank said uselessly, “Thanks.”

Pete just nodded and then disappeared around the corner, and Frank could hear the squeaking sound his wet shoes made against the tile as he retreated.

Frank stood outside of the classroom, staring down at his his crumpled school schedule as though looking at it could make it disappear or make the day any more bearable. He breathed slowly, twisting his fingers through one of his soaked strands of hair, trying to muster the strength to walk into the middle of class, looking like he had drowned and only marginally survived. He pulled a stray leaf from his hair, letting it fall to the ground, before biting the inside of his cheek and entering the classroom.

As expected, he was met with an impromptu silence from the teacher, and the unwavering stares of the class who looked at him as though he had murdered someone and the blood was on his hands. It was some sort of social crime to be late in this town, apparently, because as far as he knew, no one ever gaped at him for being late back in Newark. Unless Pete really was right, as cryptic as he was, and newcomers were really that much of a shock.

The door slammed shut behind him, loud in the eerie silence that followed, and Frank inwardly cringed.

“Who are you?” The teacher, holding a piece of chalk in one hand and gesturing toward him with the other, asked. She looked at him as though she could see right through him and the pressure was almost enough to make him shrink back and say, “I don’t know.”

Instead, he met her gaze and, “Frank. I’m... new?”

She pursed her lips and Frank placed his schedule in her out-stretched hand. She looked over it, then nodded and handed it back to him. Frank had never felt so out of place.

“Sit anywhere,” she instructed, “Meet me after class to get caught up.”

Frank didn’t say anything, just sulked his way to the back of the room. At least he didn’t have to introduce himself in front of the class. It was a feat.

He spent what little remained of the class period pretending to take notes in his soggy notebook, putting his hood up and resting his face tiredly on one of his hands. He could probably sleep like this, if not for the eagle eyes of the teacher and the fact he didn’t think anyone would wake him up at the end of class.

When the bell rang, he shoved his water-logged notebook into his backpack, where a puddle of water was sloshing around in the bottom, even though it’s not like he had walked around outside with it open. Or maybe he had. Who knew at this rate, really. 

He wasn’t even finished when the teacher stopped. in front of his desk, dropping a folder atop it, looking confusedly at the traces of water on his desk. He opened his mouth to explain that he had to walk in the rain, and he couldn’t find his umbrella, but she interjected his train of thought.

“This is what we’re going over right now,” she said, and she simultaneously looked hyperware of Frank’s existence and disinterested in everything. He didn’t know how she managed it. “Do you remember where you left off in English in your old school?”

Frank strained to remember. English. He was having such a day he was lucky if he could remember English at all, and he couldn’t think properly with the way she was looking at him like she knew his every sin.

“I think, uh,” he stammered, “We were reading The Crucible?” He had never read The Crucible in his life, but he didn’t have anything else to say.

She gave him a weird look, “Just read through the folder.”

Frank nodded, looking down at the folder as she walked away. He was debating between carrying the folder around or putting it into the watery depths of his backpack where it would be rendered unreadable. He had finally decided on just shoving it into his backpack, that was a problem he would deal with later, when Pete knocked on his desk.

“Are you good?” Pete asked. Frank stiffened, looking up at him with wide eyes. Christ, Pete walked fast. And quietly.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, zipping up his backpack and hearing the folder settle into the water puddle, “Let’s go.”

Frank followed him out of the classroom, and Pete led him around the confusing halls to their next class. As they approached the room, another man ran up to them.

“Hey, Pete!” The man said, far too chipper and excited for how early in the morning it felt. Frank had barely been awake a couple of hours and it had already seemed like a whole day. He felt exhausted just looking at the man.

“Hi, Brendon,” Pete greeted, “This is Frank. He’s the one who moved into the house on Wallace.”

“Really?” Brendon asked incredulously, “No one’s lived there in so long.”

Pete cleared his throat awkwardly. Frank hoped that this was one of those Goosebumps books where you could choose the ending. He wanted to move out already.

“But it’s good,” Brendon stammered out, looking at Pete, then turning to his gaze to Frank, “That someone’s finally living there, I mean. Are you going to eat lunch with us?”

“Yeah, sure,” Frank shrugged, looking between the two of them. He hadn’t cared too much about eating alone in the first place, but it was still sort of a relief to know some people at school. As far as sudden moves in the middle of the school year went, he guessed it could maybe be worse (minus the fact he could hear the uncomfortable squelching sound his shoes made everytime he walked because they were filled with water).

“Cool,” Brendon said, “If you’re going to eat the school food, don’t get the burritos.”

“Um... Noted?” Frank said as the bell rang. Students began shuffling out of the halls, and Pete and Brendon turned to the classroom behind them. Frank followed them in, sticking closely to their side to try and avoid another weird run-in with a teacher.

Frank settled in the desk behind Brendon, trying to inconspicuously dump the water that was just fucking slopping around at the bottom of shoes. The teacher began the lecture as the last of the students found their seats, and Frank sighed in relief at not having to confront the teacher. Thank God for Pete for getting him there on time.

\--

“It smells like ass in here,” Brendon complained as he dropped his tray on the table at the corner of the lunchroom. 

Frank sat down next to Pete, who was using a plastic spoon to continually mix the soup he had brought from home, staring down at the broth absent-mindedly. At hearing Brendon’s voice, he rolled his eyes.

“Maybe it’s just your head up your ass?”

Frank snickered. Brendon smacked the back of Pete’s head, making him lurch forward and spill some of the soup he hadn’t been eating. He stuck his tongue out at him.

“Asshole,” Pete scoffed, trying to hide his smile behind his can of Sprite as he took a sip of it.

There were a couple of other boys at the end of the table. Pete and Brendon had greeted them and then briefly introduced Frank, and they asked where he came from and what classes he had. Afterwards, the boys went back to talking amongst themselves.

“They’re nice,” Brendon commented to Frank later, as the boys had finished lunch and left the table, “Bob is my biology partner. We invite them over sometimes.”

“And it’s better than sitting outside,” Pete groaned, his soup remaining untouched, pushed to the side, “The theatre kids sit out there. Loud and obnoxious.”

Frank agreed, his stomach rumbling. He looked distastefully at the heap of shit on his school lunch tray he had attempted to eat. School lunch wasn’t supposed to be good, but this was breaking some records. It wasn’t even cooked all the way. 

“Why wasn’t I allowed to try the burrito again?”

“Someone found a bug in theirs,” Brendon gagged dramatically.

“More like a bug just flew into someone’s food while they were eating it,” Pete rolled his eyes, “Here, take my soup.”

“Are you sure?” Frank asked as he took it. It was tomato. “You didn’t eat, dude.”

“What are you, my mother?” Pete retorted, “It’s not a big deal, I think I’m just getting sick.”

“Again?” Brendon asked as Frank tried a spoonful of the soup. Not bad. “Weren’t you just sick two weeks ago?”

“Last I checked, there isn’t a limit on how many times you can be sick.”

Brendon snorted, “Okay. Smartass.”

“Better than being a dumb one,” Frank pointed out, shoveling spoonfuls of soup into his mouth hungrily.

“He’s right,” Pete agreed.

“You guys are teaming up against me!” Brendon said indignantly.

“Brendon is mad because he has a D in biology,” Pete said, leaning into Frank. 

“I didn’t mean to cut the frog in half!” Brendon defended himself with his mouth full as he took a shameless bite of Frank’s school lunch. He cringed just watching Brendon eat it so easily.

“You asked the teacher what would happen if you ate it.”

“It was a hypothetical question!” He argued, “You think I’d actually eat the dissection frog?”

“Yes,” both Pete and Frank said without hesitation.

“What? Fuck you guys,” Brendon lamented, shoving the rest of Frank’s sandwich into his mouth, “Frank, you hardly even know me.”

“He doesn’t have to,” Pete rolled his eyes. Brendon pouted at him.

Frank finished off the last of the soup just as the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Brendon groaned.

“Let’s just ditch class,” Brendon suggested.

“And do what? Find frogs for you to eat?” Pete asked without skipping a beat, adjusting his backpack over his shoulders.

“You’re not my friend anymore.”

Pete just shook his head, nudging Frank. “Let me see your schedule.”

Frank uncrumpled it from his pocket, smoothing it out as he handed it over to Pete who scrutinized it.

“Lucky you,” Pete commented, “P.E. right after lunch. Bye, Brendon.”

“Shut up, you’re not my friend anymore,” Brendon said, a smile tugging at his lips. “Bye, guys.”

Frank began to follow him, “I’m gonna go ditch class with Brendon. Bye, Pete!”

Pete just huffed, wrapping his fingers around Frank’s wrists to tug him away from Brendon. Frank trailed along begrudgingly as Pete pulled on him, strong albeit how skinny he was. 

He was already dreading the rest of the day.

\--

When Frank exited the school building after his last class, he could almost cry in relief that it wasn’t fucking raining anymore. The sky was overcast, the sun barely shining through the dark sketches of clouds, but it was better than being drenched. He made his way past the school parking lot and sloshed through the dirty puddles of water that covered the ground. The ends of his jeans were getting soaked, and his shoes were still filled with water, but at least his house wasn’t that far. 

When he went home, he promptly collapsed atop his bed (the mattress that was just sitting on the floor until he found the energy to actually set up his bed), damp clothes and all. He should probably get up to unpack boxes or at least set up his T.V., but he was already so drained from his new school, and the surprise of actually making friends in this washed up town was enough to give him whiplash and knock him out as it was.

Given that Pete and Brendon were really the only ones to try and talk to him. Most of his teachers didn’t even want to give him a second glance. Not that he was going to complain. The less attention he got from teachers, or anyone for that matter, the better.

Caught up in thoughts about his day, he could feel his eyelids starting to droop. He sat up, pulling his hoodie over his head and throwing it to the corner of his room before sinking back into his mattress. He burrowed his head in the pillow, falling asleep on top of all his blankets.


End file.
